Left Broken By His Fall
by Dustfingers-Angel
Summary: (My OC) Charlie relapses after Sherlock's death. Mrs Hudson phones Mycroft for help. Chapter 1 is mention Charlie's brothers, I'll post another fic that explains what happened to them soon. SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNING: self harm, alcoholism, implied eating disorder. Part of my Charlie James series. Disclaimer; i don't own Sherlock
1. Deteriorating

You could see it sometimes when she forgot people could see. Charlie's head would come down and her shoulders would come forward and she tucked her hands under her arms. Her hair fell down over her face and masked her from other people. And behind the veil of dark wavy hair, she was hidden from the world, protected.  
When Charlie hunched over you could see her shoulder blades sticking out at angles and her spine raised up like a long mountain range through her top. She always said she was eating properly, but she was not. She hadn't been for a while.  
Charlie had been drinking, day and night, for about a week solid. They were getting scared, about what was happening to her, and for her. If she kept going like that, she wouldn't be around for much longer.  
Alex looked at his twin brother, he was staring across the room at Charlie, curled up on the sofa with her broken leg sticking out away from her. She'd cleaned the break with alcohol of some description and bound it with strips of cloth that she tore from an older t-shirt. It couldn't be good for her, staying in the same place for days on end, especially with an injury like that.  
Charlie had just finished the sandwich they had given her. Now she had stopped eating, she curled up again - they could see her bones through her top. She looks like a picture the boys had seen at school, of a prisoner of war - dark circles around her eyes, her bones sticking out, she's paler than she was before - not pretty like Snow White, like she used to be, but deathly, waxy white. Her hair is getting greasy and she smelt of sweat and vodka. They loved her but they didn't even want to look at their sister - she wasn't what she used to be.  
Charlie used to be strong, brave. She could fight off the violence and abuse, protect them all. Now she was weak, she could barely stand, she has no strength to get up and get help. They thought she was dying; they could have easily been right.

If the boys were still around, they would have seen her returning to that state. She was getting thinner, paler, less beautiful. Everyone could see it - Lestrade remembered her from when they first met; granted, she was much better than she had been, but the air of deterioration that surrounded her was still there - she hadn't become healthy again for months, not until after she and Sherlock moved in together.  
Lestrade had never seen her at her worst, but if he had, what was to come would been a quickly solidifying shadow of what had been before.


	2. Fracturing

Mycroft Holmes opened the front door of 221B Baker Street and walked inside, his umbrella in hand as normal. Unfortunately the circumstances which had led him to be in Baker Street that day were not normal. Charlie had started drinking again. The situation had became so bad that Mrs Hudson had actually phoned him to come round – she'd tried getting Lestrade, Molly and John round to help the young woman back out of it but nothing had worked. Charlie wasn't even allowing Mrs Hudson into the apartment any more. Everyone was deeply concerned.

As Mycroft entered the hall, Mrs Hudson appeared from out of the kitchen, "Oh there you are, she's… oh well, you'll see. You know the way" the elder woman scuttled away back to her tea full of concern.

Mycroft didn't bother knocking when he reached the top of the stairs. He opened the door and looked out onto the wreckage of the apartment his brother had previously inhabited. Mycroft wandered through the living room, taking note of the substantial layer of dust that coated most of the clutter and the multitude of empty bottles lying around – evidence of Mrs Hudson's banishment from the place. Above the fireplace where once had hung a large mirror, there was now a blank section of wall; the offending décor now sat behind one of the armchairs, partially covered by what looked like an old table cover - the half that could be seen was webbed with long cracks. Boxes and boxes of case files filled most of the carpet space and were just about the only thing in the room that was dust-free; just about the only thing Charlie had bothered showing interest in recently.

As Mycroft carefully made his way to the previously James/ Holmes bedroom, he happened to glance into the bathroom. Again, the small room was cluttered but at least it looked used – the bath, shower, sink and toilet were dust-free thankfully, but, for a second time, it was the mirror that had been the article of abuse. Though it hung in the same place it had always done, a net of cracks and splinters laced the pane. At this web's center, Mycroft could see only too clearly the blood splatter that had come as the mirror had been punched several times over. At first he had hoped that the blood in and around the sink had came from the attack on the mirror too, but as he took a step forward the truth hit him with crippling force. On the sink edge there were three razor blades, each lined in blood, blood that ran down to the plug hole, as if it were trying to escape unseen. Now he was slightly closer, Mycroft could see the extent to which the white ceramic had been turned crimson. For a moment he closed his eyes and took a breath to steady himself for what was to come.

Carefully, but with purpose, Mycroft opened the bedroom door. Charlie lay sprawled out across the double bed, naked but for the familiar coat that was draped across her haphazardly. Her hair was still damp and clung to the mattress beneath her, as she had discarded the duvet and pillows at some point during the night. There were thick rolls of bandages around her wrists and one of her thighs. She had lost weight, worryingly so; her ribs protruded as she breathed out and her cheekbones gave the illusion that they were soon to break free from beneath her skin.

Charlie's eyes flickered open, stared unseeingly for a moment before they locked onto Mycroft's. Charlie sat up and pulled the coat around her small frame, concealing herself. She swallowed hard, "Mycroft" she whispered roughly.

"Charlotte" She glanced across the room, lending him to notice another set of blades lying on the floor amongst a graveyard of empty bottles.

"Mrs Hudson phoned you. Didn't she? She thought I was asleep but I wasn't, I heard her on the phone." With each beat of her heart, Charlie's body seemed to flinch, so broken she was by the realisation that she couldn't hide this any more. "Leave, Mycroft. Pretend you didn't come. Pretend you didn't see any of it. Imagine everything's fine."

"I don't know that I can"

Where her voice had formerly held no emotion, it was now consumed by anger. "Get out. Mycroft leave me alone – get out! Get out!"

He took a step back, "Charlotte"

She got to her feet, weak and unsteady, "You could have done something! You could have saved him! And now he's gone. It's your fault! It's your fault – you could have saved him!" She stumbled forward towards the elder Holmes, stopped and cringed, and collapsed down to the floor, shattering a bottle under her knee and cutting open her skin. She let out a muffled scream from behind clenched teeth.

"Charlotte" Mycroft started forward with concern.

Her head snapped up, "Get back!" she snarled. Mycroft saw the blood on her teeth. Again she doubled over, this time throwing up violently. Red and dark coloured liquid now soaked the carpet and tears began to soak Charlie's face.

Mycroft stepped round the pool and helped Charlie to her feet before sitting her down on the bed, "Tweasers" he ordered.

"Second bottom drawer" she grunted, looking over at the set of drawers in the corner of the room. Mycroft retrieved them and swiftly removed the glass from her knee.

Once he was satisfied, he stood. "Get dressed" he said forcefully.

She nodded, tiredly. Within a minute Charlie was clothed, her hair was dried and Mycroft had made her eat a small bowl of porridge. He led her downstairs and helped her into the car he had waiting. He told the driver to wait a moment and returned to 221B.

Mrs Hudson was standing at the foot of the stairs, gazing out through the open door. Mycroft spoke quickly and to the point. "While I have her out, you can clean the apartment. When she returns do not make any comment on what you discover. Get rid of any sharp objects you find. Take down the broken mirror but do not replace it. Also do not put the other mirror back up, not yet anyway. I will phone you later once she has been seen by a doctor. Do you understand?"

Mrs Hudson was quite shaken but nodded and confirmed she understood. "And Mr Holmes" she called as Mycroft turned to leave. "Thank you."

Mycroft offered an uncomfortable smile, nodded and left to get Charlie to hospital as soon as he possibly could.


	3. index

This story is one of a series. In chronological order they are:

\- Meeting Sherlock Holmes

\- Back to Work

\- Save Me from my Nightmares

\- New Year

\- Lazy Morning

\- Tragedy Shaped Her

\- An Average Day in 221B

\- Christmas Isn't What It Used To Be

\- Killing Yourself Slowly And Calling It Coping

\- Left Broken by his Fall

\- Reunited

I'll update this as more are published :)


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